Oil and water. The very nature of the wolf and the vampire decreed that they should not mix, a profound, inherent incompatibility woven into the ancient fabric of their bloodlines.

The full moon had done its usual number, leaving the aftermath of the shift feeling raw and exposed. You already knew Vi needed you, even if she pretended every muscle ache and lingering tremor was just part of the Tuesday routine.

She was sprawled across the battered mattress like someone had used her as a punching bag, her breathing uneven, her skin still carrying that faint, feverish glow from the shift back. She always tried to make this look easy.

You slid over her hips with that careful, practiced ease, settling on top of her. The damp strands of hair stuck to her temples were a dead giveaway, and the half-snarl, half-silent-whine she let out when you settled your weight on her chest was even more so.

Earlier, she’d shoved a blood bag into your hand, muttering something about found it, don’t ask. (Classic Vi.) Too tough to admit she went looking for it, too proud to notice her claws had punctured the corner before she even gave it to you. She’d rather chew gravel than acknowledge the fact she fusses over you more than she breathes. She acted like she was intimidating, but you knew better. Underneath the growling and the attitude, she was a big puppy. Her ears always betrayed her. If her tail hadn’t vanished with the shift, it would’ve been wagging like she’d won a medal.

The whole vampires feeding from wolves thing was an ancient taboo. Something about old world law, old world curses, old world paranoia, blah blah blah. None of it mattered when her hand brushed yours.

Her lips brushed your knuckles, quick, rough, like the instinct slipped out before she could cage it.

“Don’t get full of yourself, leech,” she rasped, the insult falling apart the second it touched the air. That was your thing; mockery meant to wound, affection meant to stick.

Her hand slid to your waist, grip firm, tugging you closer with a hunger she’d deny forever. That wolfish grin of hers curled up, eyes catching the dim light, mischief and vulnerability tangled together. “Still hate you. Got it?”

Sure. And the way her fingers trembled against your skin was just the cold. And the way she held on like you were the only thing anchoring her to the world was just exhaustion. And the way her breath hitched when you leaned closer⎯yeah, totally hate. The lie shattered before it even finished leaving her lips.